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RP: Tales of the North (Skyrim Role-Play)
This Role-Play will not merely take place in the Elder Scrolls Universe, within the boundaries of the Provence of Skyrim. Oh no, in this RP we plan on following the exact same quests and stories presented to us in the popular Bethesda Game, but with a twist; The Dragonborn is not alone on his adventures. While one of the Role-Players taking part in this group story will be the legendary Dovahkiin, the others will be their own unique characters who share the Dragonborn's adventures and quests. Rules 1. Proper grammar and spelling is, as always, a must. 2. Your character must be introduced as either a Prisoner in the Carriage with the Dragonborn, one of the Imperials escorting them, or a citizen/visitor in Helgen. 3. Imagine that you're actually playing the game; starting out, your character is going to be unskilled in just about everything. As we go along though, you can have your character find better loot, advance their skills, and ultimately become extremely gifted warriors (or mages, or thieves, or assassins). 4. Your character can have 7 of the 17 skills (I included the removed "Unarmed" skill and removed the Heavy and Light Armor skills; how can you be skilled at wearing stuff anyway?); 3 of which should be major skills, the rest are minor. 5. Please try your best to stick with the set lore the games provide. 6. The DLC (Hearthfire and Dawnguard) items and quests will be covered, and certain LORE-FRIENDLY mods can be included in the Role-Play as well! Just remember to discuss it with your fellow role-players! Player Characters Dan *'Character Name:' Vaden Sendal. *'Character Race:' Dunmer (Dark Elf) and Altmer (High Elf) Mix. Later Vampire Lord. *'Age': 20 *'General Appearance:' Vaden has the typical pale gray skin and red eyes of his fellow Dark Elves, but he is taller then most of his kinsmen due to his Altmer blood. He has sleek, jet black hair that comes down to his shoulder blades, which he usually keeps in a pony tail, and a thin beard and moustache combo that he only recently started growing out. His outfit changes often, but he's always wearing some kind of hood and in either unprotective clothes or light armor. *'Attitude:' Vaden is the kind of person who likes to hang back, survey the entire situation in full, and come up with numerous tactics before jumping into the fray. Usually very quiet, and rarely speaks unless spoken to. He tries to be as polite and dignified as possible towards others, though his otherwise "smartassy" nature gets him into trouble a good portion of the time. Most of the Dunmer's free time is spent on magical experimentation; attempting to create new spells by combining different elements or even magic branches. *'Major Skills': Conjuration, Destruction, and One-Handed. *'Minor Skills': Illusion, Restoration, Enchanting, and Alteration. *'Short Backstory': Hailing from the Provence of Cyrodiil, Vaden was born into the teachings of the College of Whispers; a magic institution that was formed after the original Mages Guild was dismantled, and focus highly on the study of conjuration and even necromancy. Vaden's father began training him at a very young age in the arcane arts, and when he felt the time was right the young Dark Elf left the College to find his own way in the world. Unfortunately, that way led to his capture near the Skyrim-Cyrodiil boarder where he (along with a thief that attempted to steal his horse) was mistaken for a Stormcloak rebel, and captured by Imperial Soldiers. 'Nock' *'Character Name:' Vankir the Ruthless *'Character Race:' Altmer (High Elf) *'Age': 35 *'General Appearance:' Vankir is of a very lean and muscular build. While still retaining the tall, thin, and wiry aspect of most Altmer, he manages to have the composure of Orsimier, with an attitude to match. However Vankir is a very intelligent individual, always thinking of logic (and coin) over saving lives. He has dark, olive-green skin (dark for an Altmer, at least), jet black hair usually tied into a pony tail, a dagger like, full beard and mustache, a scar running through one eye that made him blind (the wound sustained from a fight with a pack of wolves), along with tattoos over the Altmer's eyes stamped on him by Vankir's Orc mentor. *'Major Skills': Two-handed, One-Handed, unarmed *'Minor Skills': Block, alchemy, smithing, Speach *'Short Backstory': Hailing from the Summerset Isles, Vankir was born to two "purebred" Altmer who encouraged Vankir that all that all other races were inferior to Altmer, and that the Aldmeri Dominion was supreme. Angered by these beliefs, Vankir ran away from home at the age of 16, stowed away on a ship to Hammerfell, begining mercenary work under an Orc named Urgon gro Revak, who taught Vankir how to hunt and survive, and also how to fight or die. Vankir eventually decided to go into mercenary work, making his way into Cyrodill - where he let his surname become lost to legend, replaced by the title of the Ruthless, the merc always choosing money over matter. Eventually, Vankir found his way to a small farmstead outside of Bruma, working for a member of the Dark Brotherhood (who was later killed due to having someone do his dirty work.) Refusing to read the Black Sacrament, he killed one of the cultists lying in the compound at the farmstead out of Bruma. The others happened to notice, so, forced to fight them off, he found that the quickest way out would be one of the torches a dead cultist dropped. Lighting one of the thatch rooves on fire, Vankir began running when Imperial authorities arrived, chasing him to the border, and over into Skyrim, where he was taken away with many Stormcloaks, a thief, and a few others to his execution for the, quote, "unrequited death of eleven Cyrodillian farmers outside of the town of Bruma. 'Arten' *'Character Name:' Vennia *'Character race:' Nord *'Age:' 18 *'General Appearance:' Vennia is around the same height as any average Nord female, but with a smaller build due to her fondness of magic. Her left has has no color due to a small scar that runs over it. Over the scarred eye, she has dark red warpaint. One line above the eye and two below it. She wears her auburn hair in a bun with two braids attached. *'Attitude:' Vennia is very kind natured, and doesn't enjoy talking about herself. Rather withdrawn from the world, she spends most of her time practicing her magic and thinking of new incantations. she is very courageous and enjoys a good laugh, but doesn't tolerate foolishness. *'Major skills:' Destruction, Illusion, Restoration *'Minor skills:' Alteration, Enchanting, Alchemy, and Conjuration *'Short Backstory:' Vennia traveled around Tamriel with her Parents Hemgir and Aurana, along with her brother Vorstach. When she was 17 they settled in Valenwood. One day when Vennia and her brother were coming home from collecting alchemy supplies and food, a werewolf attacked them. Vennia scared the beast away using newfound magical powers, but unfortunately she had already been scratched on the eye. She healed it using restoration magic, but was cursed with Lycanthropy. Her parents discovered her affinity for magic and soon sent her to the College of Winterhold in Skyrim after her eighteenth birthday. When she reached the border, she was ambushed by imperials. 'RP' 'Chapter 1' (This chapter will, for the moment, include the events of the following quests: Unbound, Before the Storm, Bleak Falls Barrow, Dragon Rising, The Way of the Voice, The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, and any other side or unmarked quests related to those; such as The Golden Claw.) 'Part 1:' Unbound There was a dreadful chill in the air as the trio of carriages continued down the misty, cobbled roads towards wherever their destination might be. The wagons were each being pulled by a single horse; Imperial soldiers at the reins, guiding the prisoner transports slowly down the fairly steep incline. Most of the captives were members of the Stormcloak rebellion, but a few were there for other reasons. One Dunmer, named Vaden Sendal, honestly didn't have a clue as to why he was captured; when the Imperials captured him, he was merely attempting to fight off a rather desperate and underdressed Thief, who was attempting to steal Vaden's horse. It irritated the Dark Elf a little, but at least his assailant was taken into custody as well. The Dunmer sighed and tried to make himself comfortable, but the hard seat of the carriage, the tight leather binds on his wrists, and the frigid mist of the early morning made the task rather difficult. He reached up behind his head and managed to pull his fur hood up over his sensitive, pointed ears and catching the unwanted attention of the Escort rider behind him. "Hey. Dark Elf. You a member of the Blades?" The Imperial questioned in a surprisingly thick, Nordic accent. Vaden turned his head to face the man, his eyes falling upon his own, confiscated weapon at the soldier's hip; an old Akaviri Katana which he found in some ruins back across the boarder, "I thought that order was disbanded long ago?" "Forgive me, but I haven't a clue what you are talking about," Vaden answered softly, "I obtained that blade around a year ago; removed it from the grip of some skeletal remains. I'm also rather fond of it, so if you would kindly be careful with its handling?" "Don't worry, I'll take good care of it. You won't be needing it where you're going anyway..." The soldier kicked his horse's sides, riding ahead towards the next carriage in line. ---- Meanwhile, aboard the second carriage, a lone High Elf sat among a group of Stormcloaks. He sat with a look of sheer solemn and grimace, staring directly at the floor of the rickety wagon en route to Helgen. A Stormcloak looked over at the elf, a frown immediately forming in the unmasked soldier's face. The lines of dirt that had formed between his eyes seemed to enhance the angry effect he had, the ginger haired, blue eyed Nord-ist glaring angrily at the lone High Elf aboard the second wagon. "Your kind are the reason we're in this mess!", the Stormcloak shouted at Vankir, the others bumping along silently - as if they couldn't hear the angry Nord. "If it weren't for you all none of us would be here!", he continued in a simple, rephrased repetition of his other words. The High Elf continued to remain silent, staring straight past the Nord with a look that felt like cold steel to the touch of one's hand. Battle scars were strewn throughout his frail apparel, once fur armor, every pouch and pocket emptied by Imperial soldiers. "Hey! Long ears! Listen to me when I'm talking, why-don't-cha!?", the thickly accented man aggressively added. The High Elf turned to face the Imperial horseman, who was simply ignoring the chatter. "Yolm, take it easy on the elf. We're all brothers in ashes here anyways.", another Stormcloak chimed in. Yolm; the red headed one, looked at the blonde haired peacekeeper. "If it weren't for these Thalmor scum like him we wouldn't be on our way to some damned Imperial town in the middle of goddamn nowhere!", Yolm shouted, spitting at the high elf, the shot landing on his bare shoulder. "Now you listen here you ignorant bastard - the reason we're in this mess is because of you Stormcloaks trying to take land back for your own kind! And I'll be damned to ever associate myself with the Thalmor - they're just as bad as you!", Vankir retorted to Yolm, who's expression changed to one of disappointment, the Nord looking down as the blond' one chuckled. Vankir looked at the other carriage; Some Stormcloaks, a Nord in rags, Ulfric Stormcloak himself, and what appeared to be an Imperial. Looking at the other, Vankir saw a single, very tall Dark Elf among more Stormcloaks. "Hmph.", he mumbled, knowing where he was headed. ---- The Nordic woman opened her eyes. She didn't know here she was, but she did know how she got there. The air was heavy, fog was lingering in the trees around the cart she was being pulled in. It was a gloomy day, the feeling of dread and anxiety hung around her. "So, you're finally awake, eh?" A blonde haired Nord in Stormcloak garbs noticed the woman fidgeting in her bindings. "Yeah. What's going on?" Vennia looked around. She didn't recognize anyone. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us... and that thief over there." The man gestured to another Nord, dressed in rags. "Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell!" The dark-haired Nord looked at Vennia "You there," She looked up from her feet "You and me; we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!" The blonde Nord looked at him, disappointed. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." "Shut up back there!" The Imperial soldier driving the cart yelled to the back, making Vennia jump. "What's wrong with him, huh?" The horse thief looked at the fourth man in the cart, Vennia's eyes followed his. The fourth man looked very important. But he had a gag over his mouth. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" The blonde Stormcloak was extremely offended. Vennia looked at the road. Skyrim really is beautiful. She prayed she would be able to see more of it, but she felt that wouldn't happen. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! But if they've captured you... oh gods, where are they taking us?" Vennia saw the thief start to panic, seeing his eyes water, she knew she wasn't going to see more of Skyrim. Or anymore of Tamriel. The Stormcloak confirmed her suspicions. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Vennia could feel her own eyes begin to water. She's only eighteen. She can't die. Not right now. She just couldn't. She could hear the rest of them talking, about homes. She remembered the day she left her home, the faces of her parents. She grabbed the necklace her father gave her. He called it his lucky charm. Vennia wasn't feeling so lucky right now. She saw they were heading into a town, she looked around and saw people staring at her and the people in other carts. She noticed a Dunmer in the cart in front of her, he seemed completely at peace; she knew he wasn't praying, but he had his eyes closed and was looking up at the sky. She could tell he was thinking, but about what? She went back to looking at the people watching. They were in awe, that frustrated her. "What?! You all have nothing better to do but to watch innocent people be murdered?!" She slammed her foot into the cart, sending shards of ice flying around her. The imperial driver yelled again. She didn't hear what he said, but she knew it was to behave herself. It didn't matter. They stopped. ---- Sitting quietly, Vankir heard a distant, cowardly voice ask, "Why are we stopping!?". Looking to the other carriage, he saw the nervous thief, Lokir, starting to quiver in fear as the burly Nord besides him replied, "Why do you think? End of the line..." Vankir's carriage pulled alongside the other two, a few Imperial soldiers motioning the Stormcloaks and the high Elf forward in synchronization with the other carriages. "Head towards the block when we call your name.", an obviously irritable Imperial commanding officer said. "One at a time!", she continued. While the other group called Ulfric, Vankir shifted his feet uneasily. "Vankir of Alinor.", an Imperial soldier called, crossing the Altmer's name out as he walked towards the "block", a bird chirping ecstatically as he saw the priestess alongside the executioner, who's axe was already bloodied from previous... jobs... "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero.", General Tullius started, looking directly at the gagged leader of the rebellion. "But a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!", the general continued, the silent Ulfric remaining calm. "You started this war, and flung Skyrim into chaos! And now the Empire is going to put you down! And restore the peace!", Tullius continued, interrupted only by a distant sound. It seemed to resemble the sound of moving at high speeds in the wind, but it was distant - almost like a whistle. "What was that?", a soldier asked, Tullius sharply turning around and barking, "It's nothing. Carry on." "Yes, General Tullius!", the guard captain sharply stated, saluting as her gold armored superior walked past her. "Give them their last rights." The priestess nodded and raised her hands up to the eight Divines. "As we commend their souls to Etherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon them!", she started, to be interrupted by Yolm, who shouted, "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with.", walking towards the executioner. "...As you wish.", she mumbled back to him, slightly irritated. "Come on! I haven't got all morning!", an angry Yolm continued, being pushed to his knees by the guard captain. She continued to kick him unto the block with the sole of her boot, Yolm beginning to talk. "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can you say the same?", he questioned, the burly executioner raising his bloody axe, droplets of dew raining upon the ground behind him as he swung forward, Yolm beginning to pull up and away in one instinctive last attempt to avoid death. The axe impacted his spinal cord with the padded sound of sliced meat, the blade tearing through Yolm's spinal cord as if it were nothing more than butter. Yolm's head fell limply into a basket, the guard captain shoving his limp body aside as one of the other Stormcloaks shouted, "You Imperial bastards!" "Justice!", an Imperial shouted, clapping his hands as another chanted, "Death to the Stormcloaks!", another chimed in. One of the other Stormcloaks, Ralof, sniffed the cold, winter air. "As fearless in death as he was in life.", he stated, standing weakly upon the cobblestone floor of Helgen's central courtyard. "Next! The Nord in rags!", the guard captain yelled, motioning briskly for the sheepish female to come forward. And there it was again. That whistle in the sky. It was louder this time. Vankir raised an eyebrow at the sound, looking around to see where it came from. "There it is again.", an Imperial stated, continuing as he asked, "Did you hear that?" The guard captain groaned. "I said... NEXT. PRISONER.", she yelled, obviously angered at everyone's distraction. Looking over at the poor Nord girl, Vankir felt a rare tinge of sorrow. "To the block prisoner... Nice and easy.", a soldier said, looking over at the Captain. She trodded along the cobblestone path, silence falling over Helgen as it was time for a second death. Her look now stone cold, accepting terms with her death, the Nord arrived at the block, kneeling down of her own accord, the boot of the guard captain once again placed on her back to shove her against the cold piece of stone, warmed only by the blood of its past victim. Looking at the executioner, she took a deep breath, knowing that it would be her last, and started to close her eyes. Instead, they widened, a massive figure looming out of the mountain behind Helgen. "What in Oblivion is THAT!?", General Tullius screamed, stepping back in fear. The Executioner hadn't noticed. "Sentries! What do you see?", the guard captain asked. It was too late. A large black figure tore through the sky, landing on the Helgen tower. As the Executioner raised his axe, he was knocked off of his feet by the large impact of a winged creature on the tower, dust raining upon Helgen as the coal black creature stared at the town for a moment. "Dragon!", the priestess yelled, the telltale sound of swords being peeled against leather sheathes echoing through the small fortress. The Executioner quickly regained his composure, adrenaline pumping through his lungs as the Dragon opened its mouth, thunder echoing through Helgen as he was once more knocked off of his feet. Clouds quickly formed over the town, flames beginning to fall from the sky, Vennia being thrown from her position with another sledge of thunder. She jumped up, a familiar voice grabbing her by the collar and shouting, "This way!". ---- Vaden could barely believe his eyes as the massive, black creature crashed down upon the watchtower. He would need to rethink his strategy, focusing more about surviving the Dragon's attack rather then escaping the Imperials. He'd originally planned on using a bound weapon spell at the very moment the headsman's axe came down; the sickening chop would've been loud enough to cover the ethereal blade's conjuration, and since he was behind the majority of the awaiting prisoners and guards, he would've easily been able to remove his own bindings, summon a few familiars, and eventually make his escape. He even had a plan for the Archers that had killed the coward Thief who'd tried to run... but this changed everything. Chaos soon broke out as great spheres of destructive flame came crashing down from the, now orange, sky. As they struck the ground and buildings, massive craters were formed by the resulting explosions; sending dirt and debris into the air. The fire spread over every flammable surface in sight, setting the city of Helgen ablaze. In the midst of the panicking citizens, and desperate soldiers, Vaden saw that most of the Stormcloak prisoners were escaping. Good, nobody was focusing on him. From the darkest realms of Oblivion, Vaden called forth a bound Dagger; a wicked-looking weapon with blue-purple flames formed in his hands, and with some difficulty the Dunmer was able to cut the leather binds from his own wrists. Now the next step; Vaden quickly looked over the faces of the frantic soldiers, spotting one in particular. He allowed the dagger to fade away, charging a shocking spell in the other hand as he did so. He let fly the deadly bolt of lightning, striking the soldier in the hand to make him drop his sword. The Imperial shouted, in surprise more then in pain, and turned towards the magic's source in time to raise his shield against another attack. The soldier stumbled a little at the blow's force, allowing the Dark Elf the move in close, grabbing the hilt of another blade on the Imperial's belt; his blade. With one quick movement, Vaden pulled the Katana free, twisted around, and made and upwards slice at the soldier's chest, "I'm sorry... but I must take this back," The Dunmer stated, looking around for his escape. Most of the prisoners had fled into a nearby tower, but they'd closed the door behind them; perhaps sealing it so that nobody else could enter. He looked the other way; a burning archway was about to collapse, and beyond that was the town's fortress, "That would be the safest place," Vaden decided, rushing under the arch just as it was falling. He leapt forward, rolled to his feet, then rushed into the fort. ---- Vennia was struggling against the hand that grabbed her "Let me go! Let me go! I have legs! I can walk! Let GO!" She was pulled into a stone tower, safe from the dragon's attack. The man that had grabbed her finally complied and let her go. "Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing!? Could the legends be true?" The Nord from her carriage asked. Ulfric looked at him "Legends don't burn down villages." Ralof walked over to the door and shit it firmly. Vennia noticed an injured stormcloak on the ground. She tried to use her restoration magic to heal her, but to no avail. her hands were bound and she was useless until the bindings came off. "We need to move, NOW!" Jarl Ulfric barked. Vennia was still distracted by her predicament, trying to figure out how to get the bindings off. Before she could think of a real solution, she was pushed towards the staircase. "Up through the tower, let's go!" Ralof ran up after Vennia. "We just need to-" Another stormcloak soldier was cut off as the dragon barreled through the wall, crushing him under heavy stone. The dragon exhaled fire from it's mouth, and as it did so Vennia could feel the heat lashing up at her like a whip. She shielded her face from the flames, and as soon as it had appeared, the dragon was gone. There was a gaping hole where the wall used to be, Vennia raised her hands and felt the stone. How could something this strong be smashed so quickly? "see the inn on the other side?" Vennia nodded to Ralof's question. "Jump through the roof and keep going!" She nodded again and looked at the inn. The roof was ablaze, but the floor seemed sturdy. Once again, before she could think it through, Ralof pushed her. She fell onto the floor, relatively unharmed. "What about you? Aren't you coming?" She could hardly make out what he said, the most being he would follow when he could. It seemed she was on her own now. She continued through the inn, luckily, there was a hole in the floor she could jump through. She landed again, and saw a familiar Imperial soldier. Hadvar was calling to a young boy, who was in imminent danger. Vennia ran past the soldier and in front of the boy, pushing him over Hadvar. Right as they made it to safety, the dragon landed; flame spewing forth. The imperial soldier looked at Vennia. "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." Vennia followed Hadvar to a stone wall. The wall was hot, just like everything else in the town by now. "Stick close to the wall!" He pushed her towards the wall, and she hit her back. She cringed, but she was glad he didpush her. The dragon landed above them, and nearly decimated the house in front of them. "Quickly! Follow me!" Hadvar shouted, running into the shell of a house. There were imperial battlemages shooting bolts of fire up at the dragon. They ran towards a building, when they saw Ralof. 'Ralof, you damn traitor! Outta my way!" "We're escaping Hadvar, you're not stopping us this time!" "Fine! I hope that dragon takes you ALL to Sovngarde!" They both ran to the keep, calling for Vennia to follow them. She could hardly hear them though, there was too much fire, too much death. ---- As soon as the fire had started raining from above, the calls of the Dov' reigning alongside them, Vankir had began running. Where in Oblivion is my sword!?, he asked himself, dodging a chunk of cobblestone from the watchtower. "You there! You should be dead!", one of the Imperial soldiers shouted at him, unsheathing his sword to simply stop running from the blasts of fire to kill Vankir. Vankir shook his head. "You'll get yourself killed if you try to kill me!", he shouted at the Imperial soldier, who was charging at him with his sword ready. Vankir sighed, continuing to run as the soldier screamed in a Nordic accent. "There's the Keep now! We can both make it inside and have a good chance to survive if you-", Vankir started, thrust off of his feet as he felt an intense pain in his back, fingers of flame reaching out to grab the burly elf. "Agh!", he shouted, looking bad at where the guard had been standing. There was but a crater, steam and smoke alike rising in a harmonic cloud. Hearing the telltale crack of a log, Vankir looked to his left - at the source of the sound, and saw a piece of lumber from a flag falling upon him. It was blackened, now, red smolders chiming throughout the tumbling log, its material, bearing the crest of Helgen, burnt to but withers. Gasping, Vankir quickly rolled over, the cracks stopping as the elf's breath seemed to escape him. And thus the log hit him, leaves scratching his already burned spine with their warm claws, the impact of the log being stopped by a stray bolder. He screamed out in pain, pulling his arm from the fallen log. Though the boulder had saved Vankir from the brunt of the log's weight, he had not been spared of it's intensive heat. His arm was already beginning to blister and burn away from the flaming log. But the Keep was in sight. Along with a Stormcloak, Imperial, and one of the other prisoners arguing. Looking over at one of the two doors, Vankir picked the one on the left - which the Imperial and other prisoner were headed towards. The Imperial swung the door open, motioning for Vennia to go in as he held the door. Clasping his arm, adrenaline coursed through Vankir's veins, and the Imperial motioned for him to come too as he heard more explosions, combustions, and the like around him. "Come on, now! Hurry!", the Imperial soldier yelled, Vankir rushing inside as the Imperial closed the door behind him. Vankir fell upon the cold, stone floor, gasping for every cold, winter breath as he regained his energy. "Looks like we're the only three that made it... Are you okay, Elf?", Hadvar, the Imperial, asked Vankir. Vankir glanced up at him, squinting his eyes in disgust. "What does it matter to you, Imperial?", he asked, pressing his bound hands upon the ground to push himself up. "I meant no offense, elf. I'm just a soldier. I have no idea what you did, nor do I want to know.", Hadvar said assertively, looking over at the scorched Nord. "Was that really a Dragon, the bringers of the end times?", Hadvar aksed her. She shrugged, sitting down on a chair nearby. "I suppose so.", she said quietly. Looking back at Vankir, who was now on his feet, he motioned for him to come over. "If we don't keep moving this entire place might come down on us.", the Imperial soldier stated, pointing quickly up at the ceiling, dust falling from it as the structure weakened above it. "Come here, you two, let me get those bindings off.", he stated. ---- Vaden leaned against the cool, stone wall of the Keep's entrance chamber, propping his katana against his shoulder as he focused his magicka into a restoration spell; healing his other arm so that the burns wouldn't get infected. He scowled at the loud chime the gleaming spell issued, and made a mental note to develop a quieter variant later. The Dunmer jumped in surprise as the chamber's door flew open, giving entrance to the Stormcloak soldier, Ralof. He tried to grab his Akaviri sword, but his hurt arm prevented the quick movement and made him wince; causing the blonde Nord to notice him, "Whoa there, I'm not your enemy! Let me help you..." The large man stated, kneeling to take a look at Vaden's burns, "My apologies... but had I not been hurt, you would probably have been dead by now," The Dark Elf said, matter-of-factly. Ralof got quiet for a moment, then stood up to check on a dead Stormcloak near the table, "I know this looks bad, but he was already dead when I got here..." Vaden assured him, continuing to heal his wounds. Ralof bent over to close his friend's eyes, promising to the corpse that they would meet again in Sovngarde. The Dunmer and Nord both stood at once; Vaden clipping his sword to the fur sash on his waist. "That thing was a Dragon; no doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends... the harbingers of the end times." Ralof spoke grimly, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself that it was true, "We need to get out. Now!" "You go on. I shall stay and aid your fellow Soldiers, and kill any Imperial that attempts to follow!" Vaden exclaimed, "But, I'm sorry, this is more for my own satisfaction then it is siding with you Stormcloaks... I own the empire for attempting to end my life." "I understand, but once you do escape; head to Riverwood. Its North East of here, just follow the river past the Standing Stones," The Nord explained, "What's your name, Dark Elf?" "I am Vaden Sendal," "Then I'll let my sister Gerdur know you'll be coming after me; she'll gladly offer her aid to you," Ralof nodded, holding out his hand, "Just tell her Ralof sent you, and good luck out there, my friend!" The Dunmer hesitated for a second, then grasped the Nord's strong hand, "Likewise..." He returned, letting the Stormcloak leave through the cage door and down the stairs out of sight. A few new voices reached Vaden's ears from the other gate, echoing down the hall from the Barracks, "Looks like we're the only three that made it... Are you okay, Elf?" "What does it matter to you, Imperial?" Were the only two lines the Spellsword could make out before the echoes of the Dragon's roar drowned them out, but he'd heard enough; there were Imperials coming, and possibly one of the Thalmor. With the slight lift of his thumb, Vaden loosened his blade within its sheath and prepared himself. ---- Vennia nodded to Hadvar after he cut her bindings. She went back over to the chair she was sitting in and slumped down. Vankir rubbed his wrists "You damn Imperials should learn how to tie bindings without cutting off the blood supply." Vennia laughed. "I don't think you'd need to worry about loosing your hands when you're about to loose your head." Vankir shot her a look, then began searching the room. "You two are going to need some weapons and armor if you're going to make it out of here alive. Why don't you have a look around, Nord?" Vennia sighed, looking at the beds. She hadn't slept since the ambush. "Weapons aren't exactly my style, and I think I'll do better without some heavy armor weighing me down. Besides, I need a nap." Hadvar looked at her, confused. "You're a mage, then?" He asked, trying to sort out his confusion. "No, I'm a berserk Orc in disguise. Yeah, I'm a mage." "Wouldn't an Orc use weapons?" Vankir retorts. "Shhhh." Vennia looked around, pretending to be suspicious. Hadvar laughed. "All jokes aside, you should at least get some armor, might as well make it a challenge to kill you. Check in one of those chests." Vennia forced herself to get up. She was tempted to fall onto the bed, but went to the foot of it to open the chest instead. She pulled out some light Imperial armor, and walked into the hallway behind a wall to change into it. She could hear Vankir on the other side of the wall, waiting to do the same. Once she got the armor on, she kicked off her shoes and pulled on the imperial boots. Once the wall was unoccupied, Vankir went behind it and began to change into the Imperial garbs. Hadvar checked his sword, giving it a few swings and making sure it was still in working order. Vennia decided to play with some flames. Making a flame in one hand and some ice in the other, she tried to merge them. It resulted in and ice ball surrounded by fire. She watched as the ice stayed resilient against the heat of the flames; realizing it was her magic that kept it from melting. "Okay. Guess we should keep going." The sound of Vankir's voice made her drop the ice ball. It melted behind her as they all walked into the quiet hallway.